Lord of Nature

The following morning, Cyrus woke to three raps on his door. The cold floor tickled his feet as he opened it, only to find Berrodin on the other side, water dripping from his grey coat. Cyrus glanced outside, and winced as a torrent of rain beat against the window. 

"Still planning on leaving today?" Cyrus asked, raising his brows.

"Better now, than later. We'll be entering the rainy season soon, and I'd like to be back before the roads become any worse," Berrodin said. He held out a wool cloak, and a pair of boots. "Here. They're a bit old, but they should fit. It'll be better than what you were wearing yesterday anyway."

"Where did these come from?" Cyrus asked. He slipped into the boots, and wiggled his toes. They were a little big, but the lack of holes more than made up for it. 

"They were my sons, but I doubt he'll miss them," Berrodin said, scratching his chin. "So you're free to have them, if you'd like."

"I'll gladly take them, but are you certain?" Cyrus asked. He followed Berrodin down the hall, and tossed his old boots and cloak into a bin beside the stairs. 

"Honestly, I doubt he even remembers they're here. He moved up north, to Railvyn, three years ago, and we haven't spoken since," Berrodin said. He tightened his cloak before stepping out onto the front stoop. Raising his hood, he scowled at the canopy of dark clouds. "What he could possibly want from such a bloody cold place is beyond me. Nothing up there but ice and snow."

Cyrus raised his hood as they made their way down the street, careful to avoid as many of the puddles as he could. Ahead, the old man muttered a curse as he sank down to his ankle in the mud. 

"Something tells me this is going to be a long day," Berrodin said, shaking off his boot. "Come on. We need to go to the stables first."

Cyrus kept his mouth shut as they made their way down the street. As they approached the end, they noticed a dense crowd, stationed outside the building. The villagers spoke in hushed whispers and their frantic glances sent a shiver down Cyrus's spine. 

Near the edge, a group of boys climbed a stack of logs, their eyes wide as they craned their necks. When one nearly fell off, a sharp shout rang out from the crowd, harsher than any mother's tongue. 

The boys went rigid, then slowly climbed down, and stared sheepishly at the ground. No one criticized the man for yelling, not even bothering to glance in his direction. Berrodin furrowed his brow, and pushed through the people. "Halls of Osyras. Why is everyone out in this weather?"

Cyrus slipped through behind him, and stopped beside the stable doors. Inside, three men huddled around a table, their clothes covered in mud and blood. The carcass of a red boar lay between them, with a grey stripe running down its spine. 

A horrid stench hung around the beast, and blood matted its fur, while black tar caked its eyes and dribbled from its snout. The broken end of a spear protruded from its side, wedged deep between its ribs. 

"Verrel? What's going on here?" Berrodin asked. He looked twice at the table, then frowned. "Is that a Belrune bushboar?"

The oldest of the three men looked up, his dark brown eyes softening. "Yes, it is. We found it yesterday, badly injured, and hiding in one of the valleys. Still, despite being nearly dead already, it took the three of us to bring the mad beast down, and Ferin nearly lost his arm in the process."

Verrel gestured towards the young man on his left, who appeared to be no older than seventeen. A layer of cloth wrapped around his shoulder, stained with blood, and his bloodshot brown eyes flickered open at the mention of his name. 

Berrodin glanced at the boy, then turned back to Verrel. "I see. But why did you bring the beast back here? It's clearly sick."

"I know, but I don't think this is a natural disease," Verrel said. He grabbed a hook off the wall, and tapped the boar's side, near the spear wound. It clacked, like iron on stone, causing the villagers to mutter. "Do you hear that? It's unnatural. I fear there's dark magic at play here."

 "Gods above, Verrel. That's even more of a reason to leave it be," Berrodin said. He backed away. "What good will messing with magic do us?"

"Please, Berrodin, I know what you mean, but we need your help," Verrel said. He gestured towards the boar. "We found two sets of tracks, the second of which were at least three times this size. It's strange enough to find a young bushboar in these parts, but one of that size rarely ever leaves its territory. Especially during this time of the year. Something's not right."

Berrodin slowly nodded. "That much is clear enough, but why are you telling me this?"

Verrel let out a sigh. "We need your help, Berrodin. We were hoping you could take the beast to Galeden with you, and bring it before Lord Jallen. You know the people there better. They'd listen to you."

Berrodin held up his hand. "Hold on. You're asking me to bring a beast clearly cursed with dark magic to a city? They'd never let me get within a league of the walls. Not to mention the danger surrounding things of magic. I'd be a fool to agree."

"I thought you might say that, but we don't have very many options here," Verrel said. "If there's one beast in the woods, there may be more. We need to prepare for that possibility, and no one else is willing to go. Please, will you do this for us?"

Berrodin clenched his fist. "Very well. We'll load the beast into the back of my wagon. However, you best make sure I never have to pay at the tavern again."

Verrel sighed in relief. "You have my word, Berrodin. Your tab is on me."

The old man spun to the two others. "Quinn, Ferin, I want you to wrap the boar in a tarp, and bound it tightly. Make certain not an inch of it shows. I'll get Berrodin's wagon."

The two men nodded, and Verrel turned back to the crowd. "I want the rest of you to return to your homes, and ready yourselves. The boars may not be the only thing we need to keep an eye out for. I want us to be prepared, understand?"

The crowd dispersed, hurrying back to their homes. A few headed in the direction of the lumber mill, while others left in the direction of the granaries. Once they had all gone, Verrel glanced at Berrodin.

"Where did you leave your wagon?"

"It's behind my hut. I'll go with you to get it," Berrodin said. He swiveled to Cyrus. "Will you help them wrap the boar? I wish to leave as soon as possible."

Cyrus hurried over to the table as Berrodin and Verrel rushed down the stalls and grabbed a donkey from one of the stalls. The beast brayed and bucked as they threw a harness over it, and dragged it down the hall. It's grey fur stood on end as it bared its teeth towards the boar.

"I've never seen Starvhost act so wildly before," Berrodin said. His cheeks reddened as he yanked on the harness, pulling the donkey past the table. Once outside, it seemed to calm a bit, allowing them to guide it away.

Cyrus turned back to the two men wrapping the boar. "What can I do to help?"

Quinn gestured over the table towards a wall of shelves covered in ropes, hooks, and tools. "Could you bring over that bundle of thin rope? We'll use it to bind the tarp together."

Cyrus grabbed the twine, and brought it over to Ferin. When the young man reached for it, Cyrus noticed a line of black blood running down his arm. He grabbed a rag, and held it out. 

"Here. It looks like your wound opened up again," Cyrus said. 

Ferin stared at it blankly for a second, his bloodshot glassed over before he blinked and shook his head. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"The wound on your arm is bleeding," Cyrus said. He frowned as Ferin took the rag, noting that all of the young man's nails were as dark as coal. 

"Oh, thanks. I hadn't noticed," Ferin said. He dabbed away the blood, before tossing the rag away, and going back to help Quinn. 

Outside, the creak of the wagon alerted them to the return of Berrodin and Verrel.

"How's it going?" Verrel asked, making his way over to the table.

"We just finished," Quinn said. He patted the tarp covering the boar. "We wrapped it up as best we could. You shouldn't see even a hoof all the way to Galeden."

"I'd prefer it that way," Berrodin said. He climbed into the back of his wagon, and moved a few of the crates around. "Here. We can put the boar between these crates."

Cyrus stood back as Quinn and Ferin hoisted the boar up with a grunt, and carried it out of the stables. The wagon groaned as they laid it down, bowing beneath the heavy weight. Berrodin studied the straps with a dark expression before glancing at Verrel. 

"You better keep up your end of the deal. I'm planning to fill my stomach with mead when I return."

"I'll have Morlen keep your seat warm," Verrel said, forcing a smile. 

Berrodin grunted, and glanced at Cyrus. "Come on. We're leaving now, before this weather gets any worse."

Cyrus made his way over to the wagon, before noticing there was only room for one person up front. "Where am I supposed to sit?"

Berrodin grinned. "In the back of course. I hope you and the beast can get chummy. You'll be spending the next three days together, after all."

"Right…" Cyrus bit his lip, but climbed up the side of the wagon, and carefully wedged himself between a few of the crates. He did his best to keep some distance between him and the boar's corpse, but it was difficult with how much space the beast took.

With a laugh, Berrodin climbed onto the front, and snapped the reins. With a jerk, the wagon rumbled forward, leaving behind deep trenches in the mud. As they left the village, Cyrus noticed Ferin hunched beside the stable door, his back heaving with each breath. 

Cyrus shivered and he pulled his tunic tighter. Overhead, the dark clouds swirled and crackled, drenching the surrounding lands. As they entered the cover of the forest, the village faded from view, leaving them rattling alone down the dirt road.